


State of Grace

by orphan_account



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a lonely, pain filled night like every other, but this time Katniss and Finnick find a new way to suppress their pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	State of Grace

**Author's Note:**

> I have become obsessed with Finnick and Katniss as of late. Therefore, this.
> 
> Enjoy!

I sit in Finnick's room, staring down at the knot he had just tied with a furrowed brow. He wants me to copy it by eye, which seems like an impossible task. I try to work it through, but it never comes even close. I huff and throw the rope back at him with a glare. "That's impossible."

He smirks and shakes his head. "No, it's not. It's actually quite simple when it comes down to it." It's like he likes making me feel stupid. He probably does.

"Well, I can't do it."

He rolls his eyes and crawls toward me on the bed, so that we're sitting side by side, shoulders touching. "Watch."

I watch as his hands work, and I'm suddenly reminded of Peeta. How his hands are so steady as he makes intricate designs with frosting or how his knuckles move when he kneads the dough for freshly baked bread.

"All right, go." He's handing me the knot again, and I panic for a moment. I didn't pay attention to the knot for a second; only his hands. The tips of his fingers are calloused, so much different from Peeta's, and for a fleeting second I wonder how they'd feel against my bare skin.

Where the hell did that come from? I feel a blush creep up my neck and to my cheeks. There were few times where my mind became preoccupied with such thoughts, and they usually revolved around Peeta. I mean, how couldn't they? I've practically ripped his clothes off for the cameras multiple times. And that night in the Quarter Quell; that was the most I've ever felt.

He's nudging me to take it, bringing me back to reality. I gently take the rope into my hand, picking up mine to examine. I'm embarrassed by the way he's looking at me, most likely noticing my blush that just won't go away.

"Here, let me help." Before I can protest, his hands are on mine, guiding them through the motions. I watch and move when I have to. His arms are practically wrapped around me, and I can feel his warm breath on my neck as he works. When his hands stop, I realize that it's done. It's just as wonderfully made as his, but I can't exactly take credit for it. "Great job." I can here the laughter in his voice.

I wait for him to inevitably pull away, but he doesn't. His hands have dropped from mine and down to rest loosely on my thighs. I feel slightly uncomfortable at not only his actions, but how they're forcing my body to react. At this point I want to beg him to pull away, but there's no way I'm going to voice any of this to him. My hands begin to shake when I feel his lips pressed on my neck. "Uh, yeah, thanks," I say, trying to pull on nonchalance.

"You're very welcome." His fingers have begun to rub up and down my gray-clad thighs in a soft, slow pattern and I feel immobilized. The way his lips felt against my skin when he spoke caused a small tremor through my body, which I'm hoping he didn't feel; when he chuckles, I know he did.

My breathing begins to quicken against my will, because no matter how hard I try to ignore his obvious advance, it just feels so undeniably good. And the truth is, the more I focus on his touch, the less I focus on everything else. It's almost therapeutic. "I…maybe I should try it myself," I say, my voice hitching halfway through.

His fingers are no longer stroking, but now moving all the way up my thighs to the waistband of my pants. "All right, go ahead." The way he traces the line of skin just underneath makes me shudder.

I subconsciously press up lightly, making his fingers drop down just a bit farther, which causes me to gasp. I so desperately want to stop this, to just get up and leave, but I've never felt so good in my life. This is a whole new sort of feeling, one that causes my mind to cloud over. All I can think about is getting him to reach just a little lower. I forget the rope, letting my arms drop to my sides and leaning my head back, shivering when he runs along the line of my underwear. I bite back a moan.

"Tying ropes only works for so long, but soon enough you get bored, and when you get bored you think," he whispers in my ear, though his voice isn't the usual sultry tone. It's sad; desperate. He needs a change just as much as I do. All I can do is nod, which apparently gives him the allowance to drop a kiss down on my neck.

The feel of his lips pressing down my throat and to my collar bone makes me go limp against him, and I know at this point I've given in. I don't protest as a couple of his fingers slide underneath my underwear and gently stroke me. I grip anything that I can, which happens to be his thigh, and actually feel accomplished at the soft gasp it receives.

The kisses turn into nips as his fingers become a bit rougher, and I offer him more of my neck as my hand spasms. I start to slide sideways until I'm lying down, bringing him with me. I'm now gripping the sheets as he gets more comfortable beside me, sneaking his left arm under my neck and keeping his other in my pants. He's leaning over me so he can continue his attack to my neck, one of his legs resting between mine.

I moan softly when I feel him against me, something I had only ever felt a couple times before, with Peeta. It's hard not to notice when you share a bed with someone. My moan turns into a high-pitched gasp when one finger finds its way inside of me. I bring one hand to shakily tug on my pants, and he seems to understand, because he's removed his hand and is sits up, pulling down both my pants and underwear in one swoop.

I feel embarrassed at being almost bare in front of him, but this thought quickly leaves when he's back on top of me, utilizing the extra room in his favor. He's moving two fingers in and out of me and using his thumb to stimulate me on the outside, and it is absolutely euphoric.

We don't speak through this all; not when he's taking off his shirt and I run my hands down his chest and to his abs. Not when he's pulling off my shirt and bra and moving down to suck on one nipple. Not when he frees himself of the rest of his clothes and I experimentally run my fingers up his length.

When he finally climbs on top of me and enters me slowly, the pleasure is cancelled out by a dull pain. I feel him stop, and when I open my eyes he's looking down at me with slight guilt, as if he didn't expect me to be a virgin. I decide to ignore this and push up, which gets him going again.

All I can do is feel. There is absolutely nothing else there, and when I think about who is above me, it's not Finnick. I know that he's not thinking about me, either. When he gets me there, I pull him down so I can muffle my shouts into his shoulder, and he's not long after me.

He drops down on top of me, both of us breathing heavily. A few moments later, he pulls out and rolls off to the side, both of us facing the ceiling.

I'm suddenly feeling awkward. What had I just done? Now that I'm thinking straight again, I'm ridden with guilt so badly that I feel tears coming to my eyes. I quickly blink them away and move to get up, reaching toward the closest item of clothing.

"What are you doing?"

I freeze, then look back at him. "I was just…I should go back to my room, is all."

He rolls his eyes and smirks, as if nothing just happened. "Aw c'mon Katniss, I'm not going to make you go all the way back to your room. You can stay the night here."

I'm stuck in my head. A million things could go wrong if I stay here. Someone could come looking for me, and if they find me who knows what will happen? I shake my head. "I really have to-"

"Katniss, just stay. It's not a big deal."

When I look back up at him he's still wearing a smirk, but his eyes tell a different story. He doesn't want me to leave; doesn't want to be left with his own thoughts. Surely he won't analyze what just happened the way I am, but that doesn't mean our thought processes from every day and night before will magically disappear. I hesitantly lay back down, letting him pull me to his side.

"Good night."

Since the first time I've come to 13, I have no nightmares.


End file.
